


Group

by OhAine



Series: Simple Chemistry [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Thor: Ragnarok - Fandom
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Group Therapy, Humour, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sherlolly - Freeform, craic fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 02:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17092373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhAine/pseuds/OhAine
Summary: “This is ridiculous. What could I possibly have in common with—” Sherlock waved his hands, a vague sort of up and down gesture, in Blondie’s general direction “—him.”





	Group

**Author's Note:**

  * For [satin_doll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/satin_doll/gifts), [likingthistoomuch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likingthistoomuch/gifts), [glitterkitty4ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterkitty4ever/gifts).



> Something silly that's been on my mind for ages and ages. Unbeta'd. I own nothing.
> 
> Gifted to some of my very favourite people, and wishing all of our lovely and kind Sherlolly family the very happiest of holidays.

* * *

 

Sherlock had sort of resigned himself to it. Just as well really, because it seemed he had no other choice.

Molly’s hand on the small of his back pushed him over the threshold into Ella’s office, toward the circle of chairs neatly set out in the centre of the room. “Go on, introduce yourself. Try to make friends,” she nudged.

And — _Oh God_ — there was already somebody waiting for the session to begin. Pouring coffee into a cup as though the concept was completely alien to him, stood in the corner of the room was a musclebound, sun-kissed type that Sherlock couldn’t get an accurate read on: possibly Scandinavian, possibly Californian, definitely not local and unquestionably dumb as a box of rocks because at that moment he picked up a sachet of sugar and pitched it into his coffee unopened, seemingly confused as to why the small paper packet was floating along the surface of his hot drink.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and huffed like a petulant teenager. “Molly—”

“Uh, no. You’re not getting out of this. Ella thinks group therapy will do you good: and so do I, for that matter.”

“This is ridiculous. What could I possibly have in common with—” Sherlock waved his hands, a vague sort of up and down gesture, in Blondie’s general direction “— _him.”_

“You never know. Just – _for me_ – could you try? Please?”

“But _Mollyyyyyyyyy_ ,” he whined.

She turned him about to face her, putting her little hands on his chest, and flashing him the dewy, dark look that she wheeled out whenever she wanted to get her way.

Huh!! He almost laughed. And _he_ was supposed to be the manipulative one.

“Look, I love you, you know I do. But there’s no way I’m accepting that ring from you until you’ve sorted out your issues with your family. So if this is what your therapist thinks you need, then it’s what you’re going to do.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, pushed his fat bottom lip out into a pout.   

Molly stood up on the tips of her toes and whispered, “If you do, I’ll wear that thing you like—” she kissed the sharp edge of his jaw “—while doing that thing you love.”

His pouty lip curled into a lopsided smile, and he said (because he was nothing if not gracious in defeat), “Fine. But no handcuffs this time. You know how they chafe my skin.”

“Yes, dear,” she said, mocking, saccharine, then batted her eyelashes and was gone, leaving Sherlock to the mercy of the… _Australian (?)_ who was now suddenly at his side.

“Your Queen, I take it?”

Sherlock did a blinky thing at the stranger.

“I too am here because my Queen insists that it must be so. Well, I say Queen, but she has yet to consent to be my wife. Only a matter of time,” he smiled and winked at Sherlock, “I can be very charming. She’s a doctor, from Midgard — _Earth_ ,” he said as though there could be any other place she might be from. (Midgard, wasn’t that somewhere just outside Surrey?) “Brilliant, but fiery as Surtur when the mood strikes her,” he rubbed his cheek as though reliving the memory of a particularly arousing slap or two, “though she be small…” he sighed. “Jane – that’s her name by the way, the future Queen of Asgard, well what’s left of it. She thinks my family to be strange.”

“I have no doubt she’s right.” Sherlock was still trying to get a handle on the guy, who had a strange hybrid accent, kind of like Kenneth Branagh auditioning for a part on Home and Away, still not getting the cut of his jib.

_Frustrating, that._

“Perhaps so. But I do not think that a discussion with mere mortals will change anything. My family is unique, special, Gods amongst men. Who here could understand what it is like to be above all others?”

“Oh I don’t know. Have you met my brother?” The petulance was back. And Sherlock questioned whether Molly in that lacy thing was really worth the volume of brain cells he was losing just by occupying the same space as this moron.

“No. And I do not wish to. I have enough problems with my own. He’s an evil genius, you know, wants to take over the world. I love him, I do, but he’s my arch nemesis. Looks good in a suit though. Jane thinks we can’t get along because I’m a middle child and so I’m fighting for my place in the family. But I think she’s wrong, because for most of my life I didn’t even know I was a middle child. It was just me and my brother: no idea I had a sister.”

Well that piqued Sherlock’s interest. “You have a secret sister?”

Blondie looked a little abashed. “Secret. Mad. Murderer. Take your pick of adjectives. She’s a tiny bit insane, so my family locked her up, threw away the key and no one ever spoke about her again. Until she came back that is, burned my home to the ground. And don’t get me started on the dog,” he half laughed, self-consciously, “or my best friend being murdered. Certainly don’t want to talk about the faked deaths either. Ha!”

For maybe the second time in his life Sherlock was willing to admit that there was just the very smallest of chances he’d been wrong and that maybe, just maybe, there was even the tiniest of possibilities that someone else could relate to what he’d been through. After all, if he was a good boy and stayed for the whole session, Molly would do that thing he liked. In the underwear he loved. Maybe even let him do that thing to her that made her purr like a kitten…

Staying couldn’t hurt, _could it?_

He held out his hand. “Sherlock Holmes.”

“Thor Odinson.” Blondie crushed Sherlock’s fingers in a hearty shake. “So, Sher of Lock, tell me, why are you here?”


End file.
